


Not Like Gold in Your Dreams

by LittleLostPieces



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostPieces/pseuds/LittleLostPieces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Louis has a lot of doubts but Harry is not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like Gold in Your Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Cab's _Endlessly_. Title from the same song.
> 
> (This is probably the most saccharine thing I have ever written, but I think everyone needs a shot of fluff right in the backside on occasion, yes?)

If there is not some truly filthy sex at the end of this hike, Louis is going to give someone a stern talking to. That someone will probably be Harry, since he's the bloody idiot who dragged Louis up this dumbass hill in the first place. 

Alright, _dragged_ might be an exaggeration. He sent Louis a text this morning that said he had a surprise waiting at the top of the hill on the edge of town. Seeing as he knows how Louis can't resist a surprise, it's practically like dragging him, though. That's Louis' story anyway.

He follows the dirt road up and ever higher – they can call it a hill all they want, this is fucking mountain - and curses his stupid lemon of a car beneath his shortened breath. This afternoon marked the third time in two weeks that it has refused to start up when Louis desperately needs it to take him somewhere, which is both inconvenient and incredibly expensive. Since patience and cash are two things Louis is severely lacking at this point in time, it deserves the curses.

By the time he reaches the top of the hill, hair stuck to his forehead and shirt wet against his back, to say that he's grouchy is a supreme understatement. Next time, Harry can bring his stupid surprise to Louis' house.

Harry, of course, is nowhere to be seen. Louis stops at the end of the road, looks to the left and the right, but there's nothing of any note in any direction. 

The woods on the left are thick, familiar to Louis as his favorite hiding place when he was in school. When his parents would fight or when the noise of sharing a house with four girls got to be too much, Louis would call the lads and escape to those woods until someone's parents called them home. Sometimes they would drink the beer Niall stole from his brother's secret stash in the garage or smoke whatever Zayn bought from the creepy kid in the second-floor stairwell that day. Sometimes he and Harry would just snog against a tree for two hours, until they came in their jeans like the cliched high school boys they were. Louis' quite fond of those woods, but he doesn't know why he needed to climb to the top of the hill to see them.

Aside from a spectacular view of their small town and the distant, glittering lights of the next one over, the only other thing up here is a shell of an old house that kids used to insist was haunted. Louis has since learned that _haunted_ just means abandoned, that it was never razed because it's too costly for a town that can barely afford to keep itself running most of the time. It was probably beautiful at some point, isolated and majestic as it overlooked the homes and small shops below, but its best days are definitely behind it.

“Harry!” Louis finally shouts, his patience tearing at the edges as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. 

Off his cue, Louis hears a shuffling and turns toward the sound. All of his frustration and anger bleeds into the dirt at his feet when he sees Harry emerge from the doorway of the old house. 

Jesus, this kid.

Louis can still remember the pudgy, little thing that used to follow him around the playground in primary school, has seen every incarnation of Harry – including that two week stint where the idiot thought a flat iron was something he should use; he was wrong, but Louis laughs when he thinks about it to this day – and still finds himself caught off guard sometimes. Harry will walk into a room, a restaurant, or just step out of a car and Louis' brain goes silent because that little kid from the playground has grown up quite nicely.

His shoulders are so broad now, his chest and arms filled out from the construction job he's been working with Liam for the last year or so. His hips taper into these long, impossibly long and seemingly ever growing longer, legs that Louis loves to see splayed out on his bed or wrapped around Louis' waist or stretched out across the sofa while Harry's watching television. His face has thinned and matured over time, but his curls and that dimple in his cheek have staying power. 

All of that is quite enough to steal the breath from Louis' chest, but there's something else today. The way the afternoon sun catches Harry's face, sprays light over the frizzing curls around the crown of his head, shining all over him, literally makes Louis' heart trip. It's like a spotlight, a reminder to Louis that this is his and he should appreciate that not everyone gets to have a boy who looks at him like he's everything, who glows even brighter than his surroundings because of it. 

He takes two steps forward and then stops when Harry puts a hand up. 

“Wait,” Harry says, dropping his gaze to his feet and carefully stepping around a couple of boards to jump off of the rickety porch. “It's tricky up here,” he adds, shaking his curls from his face as he makes his way toward Louis. He hooks a finger into Louis' waistband and pulls him flush against his chest. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis responds, blinking up at Harry with what he knows is a completely dopey smile. “I'm sweaty,” he warns as Harry slips a hand into the hair at Louis' neck.

But Harry just shakes his head and leans in for a quick kiss anyway, too short to be anything interesting but comfortable enough for Louis' shoulders to relax even further. 

“Did you walk?”

Louis nods. “Car's dead again. Can't even have anyone look at it until I get paid at the end of next week.”

Humming, Harry watches his fingers slipping through the ends of Louis' hair when he says, “Have Niall look at it.”

Niall would do it, undoubtedly. As one of Louis' best friends, he would probably even fix it for free, but Louis' pride won't let that happen. If he tells Harry as much, Harry will just remind him of all the things Louis has done for his friends, then lecture him about letting them return the favor in kind. If it's all the same to everyone, Louis would rather just avoid it.

So instead he says, “Where's my surprise?” 

“Oh,” Harry says, blinking himself out of whatever trance Louis' hair put him in. He grabs Louis' wrist and says, “Follow me, please,” before leading him around the house. “Watch your step there,” he adds, pointing to a pile of rusted nails and splintered boards near the crumbling deck at the back. 

Louis observes, a bit skeptically he can admit, as Harry lowers himself into the grass at the edge of the hill. The view is even better from here than it was around front, but Louis is a bit confused. If his surprise is Deep Thoughts with Harry Styles in the middle of nowhere, he'll not be well pleased. 

“Come on. Sit,” Harry says, patting the ground at his side until Louis begrudgingly obliges. 

He's never really been good at saying no to Harry.

The grass is a bit wet, a little cold, so Louis scoots nearer to Harry until they're pressed shoulder to knee at what feels like the top of the world. When Harry reaches for Louis' hand, it's easy to tangle their fingers together and breathe easily for the first time today. 

The collection of tattoos they've been amassing since they were too young to know better – Harry's on his left arm and Louis' on his right – don't exactly match up perfectly, but they look pretty damn good together when Louis' attention focuses on them now. Tiny markers of moments in time that mean nothing to anyone else chart this journey they've been on for the entirety of their lives. Louis is uncharacteristically sentimental about them.

“Do you remember year eleven, when we all came up here after that end-of-the-term banquet?” Harry asks when they're comfortably situated.

Louis squints at the tiny cars making their way through the streets below, his head tilting a bit. “Was that the time Niall nearly tumbled into oblivion over there?” he asks, pointing off to the side of where they're sitting.

Harry nods, chuckles, and tightens his grip on Louis' hand. “You took me inside and blew me on the staircase,” he adds. “Said it was life-affirming after Niall's near-death experience.”

That sounds exactly like something Louis would say. To be fair, he does actually remember it. He remembers waiting until Zayn and Liam were distracted with making sure Niall was alright and then pulling Harry into the old house, pitch dark save for the white streams of moonlight breaking through the spaces in the walls. Louis isn't so good with dates and dialogue – not like Harry, who seems to remember every mundane thing Louis has ever said in passing – but he remembers events, catalogs reactions, and holds tightly to the effect things have on Harry.

He remembers that night vividly, the way Harry's bow tie hung around his neck from where he'd tugged it loose on the drive up the hill. He remembers the sweet taste of the cheap liquor, smuggled into the banquet in Zayn's secondhand flask, on Harry's lips while he giggled into Louis' mouth and stumbled up the steps of that decrepit deck behind them now. He remembers the flush in Harry's cheeks that night, the way he pulled at Louis' hair, mewling and writhing under Louis' hands while Louis brought both of them off, sloppy and urgent. He remembers the hitch of Harry's breath, the gasps and the awed way he said he loved Louis when it was all over. He definitely remembers that.

“I thought for sure we were gonna fall through those stairs after,” Harry says, pulling Louis out of his memories.

One of the slats cracked under Harry's hand that night. That's something else Louis remembers. “If you didn't punch any bloody thing in reach every time you come, it would have been fine,” he teases, nudging Harry with a shoulder. 

“Hey,” Harry protests with zero conviction. He drops his eyes when Louis reaches across his own body to toy with the hole in the knee of Harry's jeans. “I wanna buy this house.”

Louis' hand stills against Harry's skin. “Okay,” he says with a nod.

“I'm serious,” Harry insists.

“I know,” Louis answers with a soft smile, raising his hand to stroke at the slope of Harry's cheekbone with his thumb. “I believe you,” he adds. 

“Hear me out,” Harry argues anyway. “Things have been going well with my job, right? And some of the guys have been talking about a couple of new projects we might have coming up, so Liam and I are going to try to get on those crews, if it all works out. And if we can, it would be longer hours, but I could save some decent money, I think. That bank that my sister is working at now owns the deed, so if I could convince my mum to co-sign a loan with me, I think I could make it work.” He stops and turns his face toward Louis, so close he's a mere smattering of eyelashes and irises in Louis' vision when he rests their foreheads together. “Liam says he'll help me fix it up. It'll take some time, of course, but if it all works out, this could be our dream house, Lou. You and me, up here in our own little corner of the universe.”

Louis has no doubt that Harry is one hundred percent serious about this plan. It's what he does, this boy that Louis has been crazy in love with since before he was old enough to know what that meant. He dreams and it's elaborate, more often than not impossible, but that's what Louis loves about him. Usually, Louis' so grounded in their reality that he has trouble seeing the future around the price tags and responsibilities. He lets himself get bogged down in the details of daily life because those things need to be addressed immediately, so he sometimes forgets that it's okay to want something better for himself, for them.

Harry, for his part, would float away from actual reality if it weren't for Louis' gentle reminders that he has to live the life they have now while he dreams about the one that could be, so it works out really. They balance one another, need each other, as his mother likes to fondly coo every bloody time she sees them together.

“It sounds perfect, love,” Louis tells Harry genuinely. 

It also sounds like a lot of maybes and variables, but it does sound perfect. If this is Harry's surprise, Louis will accept it. It doesn't involve a naked Harry, which would be ideal, but he has so much overwhelming affection for this boy that it should probably be embarrassing, so he'll take it.

As he is wont to do, Harry changes the subject abruptly. “Do you remember the time that idiot at school told us that our relationship was unnatural and that God didn't approve?” 

Louis snorts, but he nods all the same. It happened more than once, before and after they were officially together, but Louis does remember that one in particular.

“And do you remember what you said to him?” This time Louis shakes his head, confident that Harry does. “You told him that he should take it up with his god, then. You said it was all on the big guy that your soul mate happened to have a cock, didn't have anything to do with you at all, but you were sure grateful for what I could do with it. Then I think you made a particularly rude gesture and scared him right off,” Harry finishes with a laugh, his hand slipping out of Louis' as he turns to face him where he sits. 

Right, Louis does remember that. He remembers being laid out on Harry's bed that afternoon, wanting to get off before anyone came home to interrupt them but being desperate to stay buried inside Harry for the rest of his life. His heart stutters at the thought of it even now, nearly ten years after the fact.

“I think I knew before then, but that was the day I kind of accepted it,” Harry says, his voice nearly a whisper now.

The palm pressed against Louis' has gone warm and sweaty at some point, but Louis only notices it now that Harry is slipping his hand away. “Accepted what?” he asks tentatively. 

Harry rises to his knees, digging into the pocket of his tight jeans while Louis sits frozen, waiting. His heart hammers against his ribs, his breath stuck in his throat. 

“That I was stuck with you for the rest of my life,” Harry answers simply, catching his tongue between his teeth as he flops back down at Louis' side, his hand clenched tightly against his thigh. “So, like, I wanted this to be special, but I'm not exactly made of money or anything. I mean, you know I don't own a pair of jeans that isn't full of holes and I've lived on Liam's couch for the last month, so it's, like, this isn't going to be a movie moment or anything, I guess.”

Louis wants to assure Harry that none of that has ever mattered to him, that he's in exactly the same boat here – except he still lives with his mum, so he's really no further ahead at all – but the words are stuck behind the anxious, knowing lump in his throat. All of his energy is going into not crying anyway, so forming a reassuring sentence is out of the question.

Fortunately and as usual, Harry fills in the blanks that Louis can't find the wherewithal to complete. “But I kind of figured that the certainty of knowing that I've loved you forever and won't actually stop until I'm dead doesn't cost anything, so why not, right? It's kind of inevitable anyway, isn't it?” His face flushes pink when Harry raises his hand between them and uncurls his fingers. “It's plastic. I bought it for a quarter at the petrol station, but I swear I'm going to get you a real one if you say yes.”

The ring is gold, obviously cheap, but absolutely perfect. Louis blinks at it, his mind gone completely empty until he looks up to see Harry, backlit in the setting sunlight, looking increasingly terrified the longer Louis sits, quietly staring.

“Lou, you either have to say yes or push me over this cliff before I throw up and ruin the moment completely.”

“Yes,” Louis barks, laughing in spite of himself as he launches himself forward and tackles Harry onto the ground. “Yes, Harry, of course yes.”

Louis has a lot of doubts – how he's going to fix his car, how he's going to help his mother pay the bills, how he's going to respond to that voicemail his dad left him a few days ago after years of radio silence, how Harry is ever going to manage to make this house their home – but there is one thing, one ridiculous boy with a sunshine smile and a heart that beats only for Louis, that he's never, not for a fraction of one second, ever doubted.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](http://littlelostpieces.tumblr.com/) if you want sporadic, spastic pontificating on Harry's various body parts and Louis' face and whatnot.


End file.
